Author: Tasha Coryell
Genre: Dark Romantic Thriller / Psychological Suspense
Ideal For: Readers who love genre-blending twists, narrators with sharp edges, stories that are equal parts creepy and ridiculously entertaining; fans of dark romance, unreliable protagonists, and novels that keep you guessing until the last page.
Tasha Coryell’s Matchmaking for Psychopaths reads like a fever dream—or perhaps more appropriately, a charming nightmare. It’s mischievous and unsettling, campy and razor-sharp, and in the end it lingers in your mind in the way only the most audacious books do. This is not a romance. This is romance with claws.
A Plot That Smolders with Tension
Lexie has built her life carefully. She’s got a handsome fiancé, a stable job, a best friend who seems loyal. But on her birthday, everything collapses: she arrives to what she thinks is a celebration, only to find that her fiancé and her closest friend are now an item. Betrayed and derailed, Lexie flings herself into her work—a very unusual work. She’s a matchmaker. But not just any matchmaker: she crafts matches for psychopaths (who don’t realize what she’s doing).
As Lexie immerses herself in her clients’ dark lives, two new people crawl into her orbit: Aidan, a compelling client who insists they’re soulmates, and Rebecca, who insinuates herself into Lexie’s life as a confidante. When her fiancé vanishes, disturbing packages show up at her door, and her past bloodies itself in the present, Lexie must confront: did she accidentally match herself with a killer? Or is someone orchestrating her downfall?
Coryell doles out revelations, betrayals, and body-parts (yes, body parts) with both relish and restraint. The pacing hums. The plot refuses to settle. Just when you think you know who is dangerous—and who is safe—Coryell tilts the floor beneath you.
Coryell’s Pen: Whimsy in Darkness
What makes Matchmaking for Psychopaths so enthralling is the balance between horror and wit. Coryell doesn’t lean wholly into one tone; she dances between the absurd and the brutal. Lexie’s internal voice is sharp and self-aware, often sardonic, grappling with grief and distrust even amid murderous mysteries. The author knows how to twist humor and tension so that you’re laughing and recoiling in the same breath.
Yet beneath the campiness lies a deeper core: trauma, identity, the human hunger for connection (even twisted connection), and how betrayal sculpts us. Coryell doesn’t shy away from Lexie’s wounds. Instead, she lets the darkness inform the satire. She asks: what happens when your therapist might kill you? What does redemption look like for someone whose clients are killers? Beneath the wild premise is a probing examination of how far one will go to be seen, understood, loved.
Themes That Echo Beyond the Gory
Matchmaking for Psychopaths interrogates our assumptions about love, power, and danger. It asks whether people who seem monstrous may also be the ones who understand loyalty—or whether “loyalty” is just another mask. The novel also plays cleverly with the conceit of reality TV, social performance, and how everyone dresses for the cameras—even when their lives are falling apart.
Coryell also toys with the idea that psychopaths are not necessarily lurid villains hiding in dark alleys. As she notes in interviews, they may be just the people who blend into everyday life—married, ambitious, liked. This blurring of the monstrous and the mundane makes the danger feel close, familiar. The book’s messiness, its moral ambiguity, is very intentional. Nothing is neat; nothing is stable.
Why This Book Matters
There are plenty of thrillers. There are plenty of dark romances. But few combine them with such boldness, humour, and insight. Matchmaking for Psychopaths reminds us that a compelling story need not sacrifice intelligence for entertainment. It can be weird, bloody, vicious—and still deliver emotional resonance and thematic weight.
Coryell shows that wild ideas—matchmaking killers, vanishing fiancés, poisoned friendships—still carry universal stakes: grief, betrayal, longing, identity. She trusts the reader to ride the ride. She trusts the darkness.
What Makes It Shine (and What Could Be Tough)
- Strengths: The originality of the premise; the voice of Lexie (imperfect, defensive, wounded); the tension that ratchets with every page; the humor that subverts the horror rather than undermining it. Coryell masterfully layers misdirection. Even when you guess something, she pulls a new thread.
- Risks: Some stretches of middle momentum lag slightly as threads are planted and suspects introduced. If you lean toward neat endings, the final revelations may feel abrupt—they’re messy by design. The tonal shifts (from witty banter to gruesome twist) may jar some readers, though I found that jarring delightful.
- Final beats: The concluding act holds up. The emotional stakes land, and the revelations provoke rather than simply resolve. You close the book thinking: who really matched whom?
You’ll Love This Book If You Like…
- A thriller that doesn’t shy away from romance, or a romance that isn’t afraid to bleed
- Narrators who are messy, broken, funny, wrong (but aware)
- Books that force you to rethink trust, love, and motive
- Dark humour, unreliable characters, and surprises you do not see coming
If you loved Love Letters to a Serial Killer, you will find in Matchmaking for Psychopaths the same audacious voice—but sharpened, riskier, and more emotionally layered (and yes, with more dismemberments).
Final Thoughts
Matchmaking for Psychopaths is an exuberantly twisted ride. It beckons you in with the darkness and the absurdity, and then anchors with heart. Coryell gives us a heroine who is broken, funny, untrusting, and yearning—and surrounds her with characters who challenge what we think we know. Reading it is not safe—but that’s exactly the point.
This is one of those books that will haunt conversations long after you finish. I closed it weary, exhilarated, lingering in its shadows. Tasha Coryell has crafted a novel that is as fearless as it is entertaining. Read it loudly, read it in the dark, and read it knowing you’re never going to look at matchmaking—or love—the same way again.
